A Hymn Began

A hymn began with the scraping of folding

chairs slid back on a birch floor,

the groaning wood and clearing throats

being underscored by a tinny piano,

while over it came a high pious cry

to turn to whatever number.

Then about a hundred heart-felt howlings

hurled themselves toward Heaven like coyotes,

the infernal caterwaul, if not eternal,

believing itself supernal in a favorite song,

like Onward Christian Soldiers.

And how they yelled! ‘With The Cross before,

marching into battle, Christ the Royal Master

leading against the foe, etc.’

Despite how it hammered my innocent ears,

unnerved me and later made me fear mobs,

I, as a child, partook in the clamour,

shouted it out, as loud I could,

embracing the slaughter of thought.